Baggage Claim
by Chadini
Summary: Sara is coming back and someone has to pick her up at the airport. Spoilers for S8 in general. GSR.


Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine and if CBS wants to come after me, they can hook up with the Columbia Records and Tapes guy. He has been after my ass for years. (That line gleaned from Reality Bites – one of my favorites movies of all time – and it is so very true.)

A/N: Thanks to junglemag and princessklutz04 for the beta.

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The baggage claim at McCarran is a perfect case study for the "What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas" tourism slogan. Living in Vegas, Brass had sharpened his skill of being able to predict what misdemeanor was picking up his bag, to a fine point.

He walked over to lean next to the ground transportation kiosk, a better location to view the sea of Hawaiian print shirt and sock and sandal combos flow past him. Chuckling, he thought that if tourists were anything, they were easily identifiable. It isn't too tough to pick out the Dilberts of the Midwest, all giddy with anticipation for their escape from their cubicles on a three day pass. The Arrivals Hall is filled with schmucks that watched that show with the English guy that was betting his entire life on the spin of the roulette wheel. When will they all realize that just because you play, it doesn't mean you will win a new life?

Glancing down at his watch and fiddling with it, he listened to the excited, animated bits of conversations that filtered towards him as the travelers moved by.

"No, No! You **always** split aces and eights," a woman instructed her husband, shaking her shiny new blackjack basic strategy card at him to prove her point. "We have to do what the card says if we are going to win…"

Gripping his Batman backpack, a young man gleefully informed his parents, "Aunt Kathy said to put her five bucks on 17 and let it ride!" clearly with no clue where 17 was going, only that it sounded fun.

As Brass surveyed the scene in front of him, it occurred to him what made Vegas different from any other city. Looking around the airport, you don't see people _coming home_. There are the weekend gamblers and the showgirl wannabes. Granted, in Jersey, you had every Springsteen/Bon Jovi clone with their beat up guitar case and map to the Stone Pony - but, in Vegas, you don't see the excited family reunions, loved ones anxiously checking their watches - waiting for their friend to return home.

That is, except for today.

Exactly 47 minutes ago, Brass arrived to relieve an aggravated and agitated Grissom. He had waited as long as he could for Sara to arrive home, but he had to get back to the lab. With the sensitivity of Warrick's case, Grissom didn't trust anyone to handle anything. The Undersheriff was doing his damndest to keep them all out of the loop, but he was unable to stop Grissom from "observing." Brass hoped that McKeen was blocking them out to maintain the integrity of the case – looking out for Warrick. But deep in his gut, he knew the Undersherriff's motives were anything but pure.

McKeen wasn't "that guy." He never portrayed himself as the type of guy to do everything by the book – except of course when it suited him. Brass knew something was off from the whole reverse forensics garbage.

Warrick's entire case was off. None of it made sense. Brass and Grissom had seemingly endless conversations – trying to map out any and all scenarios. They always arrived back to the same conclusion - which was Warrick wouldn't have shot himself. Not now anyway. 3 months ago with all of his personal demons it was still doubtful, but at least it was in the realm of possibilities. But a guy like Warrick doesn't beat a murder rap, go out to breakfast with his best friends and then shoot himself in the head, knowing that one of his best friends would find him.

Trying to shake the memory of Nick calling the case in, Brass walked closer to the escalators, waiting for Sara. Looking down at his watch, he couldn't help but think that it would have been quicker if Sara had just driven herself.

Looking through the group of approaching people that looked like they had started drinking somewhere over Moline, he was straining to catch a glimpse of Sara. Patience never was one of his strong suits, and an airport was not the place to practice.

Brass was looking forward to seeing Sara again, hoping to pick up where they left off – sometime before she was abducted.

Back when things were normal, whatever that really means.

The last time he saw Sara, it was not a particularly pleasant experience. Rarely did they fight - more of a differing of opinions - but when they did it was usually quickly resolved over an icy cold beer and some nachos. The last discussion was definitely a fight, and it was somehow different. He should have known something was horribly wrong with her, going for his jugular the way that she did, but he was too pissed off to be a warm and fuzzy father figure. Sara accused him of not doing his job, and that was a fierce right hook connecting with his jaw.

Bending down to retie his shoes, the image of a frozen Grissom entered his mind. Brass was the first to find out that Sara had left him. He had actually been in the building, walking through the wake of gossip. Hodges was running his mouth like a teenage girl, all about Sara planting one on Grissom in front of everyone and then walking away without a word. By the time Brass made his way to Grissom's office, he found him leaning on his desk and staring into space, with his glasses in one hand and her letter in the other.

Grissom must have been in shock, because there was no other rational explanation that Brass could come up with to account for Grissom sharing such a personal letter.

Maybe he thought that if he didn't say it out loud then it wouldn't be true and Sara would be in break room drinking coffee and reading her forensic journals.

Looking down at his watch again, Brass could only be thankful that she will be back soon, whenever her damn plane decides to land, and maybe then they can all try to get back to normal – whatever that is.

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Thanks for reading!


End file.
